There isn't much else I love more
than hearing the crackling and popping of the fire,
or watching Steven's long, lean arms flex and tighten as he chops the wood
and brings it inside.
The house becomes a home when comfort is felt
and peace settles over you like a blanket.
When babies doze and shuffle in their beds,
dreaming of picking apples and watching rainstorms.
My favorite nights are nights like these;
nights when you can't help but feel so content -
and you know that you are exactly where you ought to be
with the one you never deserved to be with,
but somehow loves you more than you ever thought anyone would.